IRLF 


University  of  California. 


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Alexander  Del  Mar. 

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• 


J.   W.   MONTCLAIR. 


BKAK  V 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

/2~<ff{ 

CALIFORNIA. 


REAL  AND   IDEAL 


BY 


JOHN   W.   MONTCLAIR. 

K  A  liY   " 

UNIVERSITY   OF 

CALIFORNIA. 


PHILADELPHIA : 
FREDERICK    LEYPOLDT. 

BOSTON. 

A.    K.    LORING, 
S.  R.  URB1NO. 


NEW-YORK: 

KURD     &     HOUGHTON. 
F.   W.    CHRISTEKN. 


LONDON : 

TRUBNER  &COMPANY. 

1865. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1864,  by  J.   Wm.  Weidemeyer,  in 
the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


TO 


HENRY  W.  LONGFELLOW: 


HUMBLE  TRIBUTE  IN  ADMIRATION   OF  HIS  TASTE, 
LEARNING,  AND  GENIUS. 


"Unheralded  —  a,   pilgrim,    and,    a    stranger; 
If  ye    would    know    me,   "keep    me    company." 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

PROLOGUE 13 

FLOWERS 17 

PILGRIMAGE  TO  KEVLAAR 18 

BELLS  BY  NIGHT 25 

ODE  TO  POESY 25 

HAUNTED  LAKE 29 

SPIRIT'S  EEVELATION 31 

GAME  OF  CHESS 34 

OLD  COMEDIAN 36 

RAMBLER  AND  SHEPHERD 40 

VESUVIUS 43 

ERL-KING'S  DAUGHTER 46 

NIAGARA 49 

TELESCOPE  AND  FIRMAMENT 51 

LENORE 53 

MARRIAGE 56 

GRENADIERS 58 

NIGHT  VISION 61 

WINTER'S  RIDE 64 

IMMORTALITY 67 

GIANT'S  PLAYTHING 69 

BURIED  ALIVE 72 

EGYPT.  . .  , 74 


X  CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

RECOGNITION 76 

AGE  OF  PKOGRESS 78 

EXTERNAL  PIETY 81 

SLEEP  OF  BAUBAROSSA 83 

EXPLORKR 85 

FADING  AWAY : 87 

WINTER  WEATHER 89 

RECKONER 91 

STARS  AND  STRIPES 98 

WAYFARING 95 

PEDANTRY 97 

PROCRASTINATION 98 

PHASES  OF  LIFE 101 

VENETIAN  GONDOLIERS 103 

PLEIADES 10t> 

DEAD  AUTHORS Ill 

WATER  SPRITES 112 

MISERY  AND  REMORSE 114 

ON  WINGS  OF  SONG  AND  Music 116 

To  A  COQUETTE .118 


REAL    AND    IDEAL. 


L  1  B  R  A  R  Y 

UNIVERSITY   OF 

CALIFORNIA.  , 

,v 

PROLOGUE. 


"Dread  son  of  Saturn,  what  word  liast  tnou  spoken?"— HOMHR. 
"To  be  or  not  to  be— Uiat  is  the  question."—  SHA.KSPEARE. 
"—In  judgment  nothing,  if  not  critical." — QUABTERI.Y  REVIEW 


YE  kingly  umpires,  when  ye  condescend 
To  scan  the  lines  that  court  your  chary  praise, 
Search  not  alone  the  rhymster's  awkward  turns, 
And  frame  them  out,  to  draw  the  vulgar  gaze  : 


But  seek,  with  fertilizing  sympathy 
And  warmth,  the  germs  of  promise  to  unfold ; 
Much  that  at  first  seems  dross-like  in  the  ore, 
May  be  refined  to  bars  of  mental  gold. 


The  poet's  weal  is  oftenest  in  your  keep  — 
For  minstrel  ne'er  full-grown  to  life  has  sprung; 
E'en  Shakspeare  wandered  on  uneven  paths, 
And  Chaucer  lisped  in  numbers  ere  he  sung. 


14  PROLOGUE. 

Ere  Wordsworth  and  Lord  Byron  reached  a  goal, 
Feeble  the  sound  that  first  conveyed  their  name ; 
'Till  willing  ears  were  strengthened  to  their  harps : 
Then  the  wide  welkin  echoed  of  their  fame. 


Clearer  to  think  what  others  thought  before — 
Keenly  to  feel  th'  afflictions  of  our  race — 
Better  to  say  what  others  oft  have  said — 
Such  merits  win  the  Minnesinger's  place. 


Not  phrenzied  in  somnambulistic  trance, 
Nor,  Sibyl-like,  in  mysticism  lost, 
Would  we  attest  to  logic's  steadfast  friends 
That  lack  of  sense  must  be  the  poet's  cost. 


But  we  would  strive,  like  sonneteer  Petrarch, 
Suggestive  and  condensed  our  aims  to  tell ; 
That  o'er  an  out-line  page  the  reader's  mind 
In  self-thought  volumes  lingering  may  dwell. 


Nor  would  we  forge  frail  copies  of  ourselves, 
Like  gifted  minds,  when,  restive,  they  have  sought 
To  swing  the  hammer  of  heroic  youth 
Upon  the  anvil  of  their  rusted  thought 


PROLOGUE.  15 

The  chosen  bards,  who  sang  for  three-score  years — 
Our  laureled  three,  grown  old  and  bearded  gray — 
Who  hummed  the  cradle  songs  of  stalwart  men — 
Slowly,  like  swans,  must  sing  their  lives  away. 


Through  fifty  solar  orbits  one  of  these 

Copied  the  woods  and  fields,  mountains  and  sky : 

Flawless  reflected  by  his  argent  mind 

These  pictures,  photographed,  before  us  lie. 


A  second  learnt  the  Chronicles-of-Eld, 
To  open  treasures  many  long  had  sought : 
Bright  burns  the  flame  of  his  magician-lamp, 
To  light  the  shores  that  bound  the  sea  of  thought. 


The  other's  lyre  told  of  Athenian  lands  — 
Of  hearts  that  bled  by  suffering  and  wrong ; 
His  wit  is  love,  his  grief  is  hope  deferred  : 
Their  keenness  glistens  in  his  saddest  song. 


When  these  retire,  shall  harmony  be  mute — 
Must  native  voice  of  melody  be  sealed? 
Strike,  younger  bards,  your  chords  on  newer  harps, 
That  newer '  promises  may  be  revealed  ! 


PROLOGUE. 


There  yet  remain  proud  themes  for  other  strains 
To  draw  the  picture  of  these  later  days  — 
To  cull  the  flowers  that  grow  in   distant  fields, 
And  plant  the  foreign  seed  on  native  ways  ; 


To  draw  the  lines  of  cis-Atlantic  scenes  — 
To  sing  the  legends  of  Powhatan's   times — 
To  chant  the  hymn  of  "Paradise  Preserved" — 
To  ring  the  bells  of  Freedom  in  our  rhymes  ! 


FLOWERS. 

BE  welcomed  evermore,  ye  lovely  sprites  ! 

My  greeting  lips  in  homage  touch  your  robes. 

From  out  the  debris  of  departed  things, 

By  some  strange  magic  starting  from  the  ground, 

Ye  breathe,  and  live  a  silent,  sainted  life : 

The  while  ye  nod  and  flutter  in  the  air, 

Your  fragrance  rises,  like  a  welcomed  prayer ; 

Your  colors  blend,  akin  to  sunset  hues ; 

Your  forms  are  shapes  that  fairies  well  might  choose. 

Would  ye  could  tarry  here  :  in  this  rude  world 

Too  soon  ye  droop ;   by  human  touch  profaned, 

Ye  shrink,  and  slowly  wither  at  my  side. 

Whence  came  ye — tell  me,  whither  do  ye  hide  ? 

Do  unseen  spirits  weave  your  gossamer  shroud  ? 

Do  ye  dissolve,  to  rise  a  silvery  cloud? 

Would  that  this  clay,  beyond  life's  measured  hours, 

In  ashes  laid  might  change  to  lovely  flowers; 

That  o'er  some  silent  and  forsaken  tomb 

Again  in  living  emblems  I  might  bloom. 


THE    PILGRIMAGE    TO    KEVLAAR, 

TRANSLATED    FROM    THE    GERMAN    OF    HEINE. 
I. 

THE  mother  stood  at  the  window, 
On  the  bed  her  sick  son  lay ; 
"  Arise  and  come  hither,  dear  William, 
The  procession  is  coming  this  way." 

"  I  am  very  feeble,  dear  mother, 
Too  faint  to  listen  or  see ; 
When  I  think  of  dying  Gretchen, 
The  world  seems  all  lost  to  me." 

"  Come  forth  with  rosary  and  prayer-book, 
Let  us  both  for  Kevlaar  depart ; 
'Tis  there  that  the  mother  of  Jesus 
Heals  many  an  aching  heart." 


THE  PILGRIMAGE   TO   KEVLAAR.  19 

From  spires  gay  flags  were  flying, 
In  the  streets  solemn  chants  were  sung ; 
And  as  the  procession  moved  onward, 
All  the  bells  of  Cologne  were  rung. 

Soon  the  throng  was  joined  by  two  pilgrims — 

A  mother,  with  son  by  her  side; 

And  both  sang  "  Ora  pro  nobis^  ^  J^  J[{  A    11    V 

To  Mary,  the  heavenly  bride. 

UNIVERSITY   OF 

CALIFORNIA. 

_ 

The  mother  of  Jesus  at  Kevlaar 
To-day  wears  her  costliest  gown ; 
For  they  say  that  she  will  be  busy 
With  the  many  cripples  in  town. 

The  lame  and  sick  crowd  around  her, 
With  the  numerous  offerings  they  bring  : 
Waxen  arms,  waxen  legs  do  they  offer — 
Waxen  hearts — waxen  many  a  thing. 

For  to  him  that  offers  a  wax  hand, 
The  wound  on  his  own  hand  shall  heal ; 
And  he  that  offers  a  wax  leg, 
No  longer  leg  pains  shall  feel. 


20  THE   PILGRIMAGE   TO   KEVLAAR. 

To  Kevlaar  went  many  on  crutches 
Who  now  can  dance  on  the  rope ; 
And  some  now  play  the  viola, 
That  were  palsied  in  hand  beyond  hope. 


The  mother  she  took  a  wax  taper, 
And  moulded  it  into  a  heart  : 
Son,  offer  this  to  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
That  your  anguish,  for  aye,  may  depart." 


Soon  did  he  kneel  with  his  offering 
To  the  image  so  holy  and  blest; 
As  teardrops  rolled  from  his  eyelids, 
Agony  streamed  from  his  breast. 


Thou  saintly  mother  of  Jesus, 
Thou  spotless  and  heavenly  queen, 
My  poor  heart  from  sin  and  suffering, 
Thy  mercy  alone  can  clean. 


"  My  mother  and  self  are  dwelling 
In  proud  Cologne,  on  the  Rhine  ; 
'Tis  a  city  of  stately  churches, 
Whose  many  altars  are  thine. 


THE   PILGRIMAGE   TO   KEVLAAR.  21 

'•  Adjoining  our  cottage  lived  Gretchen ; — 
She  is  dead  now,  and  laid  to  rest. 
This  waxen  heart  do  I  bring  thee — 
Wilt  thou  heal  the  wound  in  my  breast  ] 

"  Mend  thou  my  heart's  deep  anguish, 
And  morning  and  night,  each  day, 
Through  life  will  I  chant  thy  glory, 
And  many  a  litany  pray." 


III. 


When  the  suffering  youth  and  his  mother 
Had  returned  to  their  chamber  small, 
There  at  night  time  the  Blessed  Virgin 
Entered  unknown  to  all. 

She  bent  o'er  the  feeble  one  gently, 
And  laying  her  hand  so  light 
On  the  beating  heart  of  the  sleeper, 
She  smiled — and  vanished  from  sight. 

Tn  a  dream  the  mother  beheld  it, 
Like  a  vision  that  moved  in  a  cloud; 
And  as  she  awoke  from  her  slumber 
The  dogs  were  barking  aloud. 


22  THE  PILGRIMAGE   TO  KEVLAAR. 

Her  son  lay  stretched  beside  her, 
Quiet,  and  cold,  and  'dead ; 
And  his  sunken  cheek  was  gleaming 
Like  a  rose,  in  the  morning's  red. 

The  mother  her  hands  she  folded, 
Faintly  she  sank  on  her  knee; 
And  the  only  words  she  could  utter 
Were  "  Ave,  Ave  Marie." 


BELLS    BY    NIGHT. 

'TIS  Sabbath  eve:  from  the  old  kirk  tower 
Merrily  chime  the  bells  by  night; 
The  organ  peals  with  thrilling  power, 

And  the  windows  glow  with  holy  light 

Merrily  chime  the  bells  by  night. 

Tear  by  year  to  the  pilgrim  throng 
Warningly  speak  the  bells  by  night : 
"Life  is  short,  eternity's  long; 
Children  of  darkness  waken  to  light" — 
Warningly  say  the  bells  by  night. 

Over  the  grave  of  the  patriot  slain 
Solemnly  rolls  a  dirge  by  night : 
"  The  good  are  gathered,  like  ripened  grain — 
Why  should  we  weep  when  angels  delight  ?" 
Solemnly  echo  the  bells  by  night. 

3 


24  BELLS  BY  NIGHT. 

Lone  do  I  list  to  a  curfew  "bell 

That  woefully  throbs  within  me  to-night ! 

Of  waning  life  its  pulsations  tell ; 

And  many  a  legend  does  memory  recite, 

That  mournfully  wrings  my  heart  to-night ! 


ODE    TO    POESY. 


ERE  Memnon's  shadow 
Touched  charmed  ground— 
When  time,  an  infant, 
Scarce  winged  his  flight — 
Through  the  long  night 
Of  countless  ages, 
Ever  the  minstrel's 
Echoes  resound. 


Bard,  be  thou  welcome, 
Who  canst  inspire 
Like  seer  or  prophet, 
And  wake  the  lyre 
Of  thousand  strings  ! 


26  ODE   TO  POESY. 

Thy  strains  melodious 
Earth's  future  millions 
Are  yet  to  sing. 
Thou  fill'st  the  goblet 
With  draught  refreshing, 
For  wearied  pilgrims, 
That  thirst  to  quaff 
Ethereal  streams. 


In  the  lone  forest 
To  thee  the  warbling 
Of  bird  is  worship, 
And  wild-wood  rustlings 
Are  spoken  language. 
Thou  picturest  beauty 
In  desolation. 
The  crowded  highway, 
"Where  wealth,  usurping, 
Loads  man  with  labor, 
To  thee  is  only 
A  tomb  of  silence. 
Thy  words  are  blessings, 
And  quick  relief; 
For  the  heart-stricken, 
Thou  softenest  grief; 


ODE   TO  POESY.  27 

To  youthful  pleasures 
Givest  virtues  tone — 
Yea,  music's  measures 
Are  all  thine  own ! 
The  hearts  of  heroes 
By  thee  are  nerved ; 
The  lips  of  beauty 
By  thee  are  moved; 
Woman's  devotion 
Oft  thou  hast  proved : 
No  better  knight 
Her  cause  has  served. 


On  the  far  ocean, 
Upon  the  mountain 
And  on  the  plain, 
From  fields  of  battle, 
Breathed  as  in  prayer 
Like  saintly  word, 
Thy  voice  is  heard. 
In  holy  temples 
Thy  strains  are  sung; 
Thy  words  from  breaking 
Hearts  are  wrung. 


28  ODE   TO  POESY. 

Thus,  self-ennobled, 
By  thine  own  genius, 
Fame's  torch  is  fired: 
By  sages  quoted, 
In  learned  orations, 
Thy  texts  are  noted; 
And  shine  through  ages 
On  deathless  pages  ! 


THE    HAUNTED    LAKE. 


SUBJECT  FROM    THE    GERMAN. 


The  story  of  the  "Naiad  '  is  an  old  and  favorite  one  in  German  minstrelsy.  Goethe  (in  the 
"Fisher"),  Heine  (in  the  "Loreley"),  and  recent  authors  of  less  note,  present  greatly 
differing  versions  of  the  same  interesting  poetic  subject. 


HIGH  on  the  cedar  mountain 
Nestles  a  deep  blue  lake, 

And  lilies  float  upon  it, 
White  as  a  snowy  flake. 


A  shepherd  youth  went  thither, 
Estray  from  flock  and  kine ; 
He  saw  the  beauteous  flowers  : 
"  Sweet  things,  ye  must  be  mine." 


As  he  his  crook  extended 
To  reach  the  lovely  prize, 

Behold  from  'neath  the  waters 
A  maiden's  hand  arise. 


30  THE   HAUNTED   LAKE. 

It  seized  a  flower  and  drew  it 

Beneath  the  watery  deep : 
"  Come,  follow  where  my  secret 
Together  we  may  keep. 

"  Away  from  idle  searches, 

These  lilies  root  beneath; 
Reach  me  thy  hand,  I'll  lead  thee 
To  twine  my  bridal  wreath." 


The  shepherd  did  not  follow  : 
In  loneness  he  repined — 

For  never  could  he  banish 

The  pale  flower  from  his  mind. 


He  wandered  on  the  mountain, 
He  seemed  to  fade  away ; 

Nor  have  the  woodmen  met  him 
Since  that  eventful  day. 


L 1  B  R  A  U  Y. 

UNIVERSITY   OF  j 

CALIFORNIA.  ' 


THE    SPIRIT'S    REVELATION 


FORMS  beloved,  whose  memory  haunts  me, 
In  mementoes  near  me  dwell  ; 
Oft  they  come  in  evening  visions, 
Or  in  dreams  their  legends  tell. 


Sad  and  lonely,  but  unspoken 
Fancy  reaches  far  away  — 
When  some  sudden  thrill  awakes  me, 
And  a  seraph  seems  to  say  : 


"  Though  we  may  not  break  the  secret 
That  the  gates  of  death  reveal, 
In  the  grey  night's  gloom  and  stillness 
Drawn  toward  the  earth  we  feel. 


32  THE  SPIKIT'S  REVELATION. 

"  For  there  is  a  strange  communion 
'Twixt  men  and  our  spirit  band; 
Oft  in  omens  we  approach  ye, 
Brethren  of  our  ancient  land. 


"  From  the  glittering  orb  of  even, 
Gliding  down  upon  its  beams, 
Noiseless  as  the  step  of  Zephyr, 
Do  we  visit  you  in  dreams. 


"  At  the  couch  of  all  true-hearted 
Stand  we  guardian,  in  their  sleep ; 
For  the  loved  ones  left  behind  us 
Do  we  faithful  vigils  keep. 


"  See,  yon  spirit  mother  hovers 
O'er  her  fondly  cherished  child — 
Weeps  in  smiles  of  tender  sorrow — 
Drinks  its  breath,  with  rapture  wild. 


Playing  with  her  flowing  tresses, 
Pillowed  on  her  heaving  breast, 
Comes  the  spirit  child,  to  linger, 
By  its  mother's  lips  caressed. 


THE  SPIRIT'S  REVELATION.  33 

And  the  ghostly  husband  beckons 
To  his  mourning,  faithful  wife ; 
In  yon  lunar  dwelling  bids  her 
Join  with  him  in  spirit  life." 


Never  can  the  tie  be  severed 
'Twixt  .the  hearts  that  truly  love ; 
And  for  every  friend  departed 
One  ye  gain  in  heaven  above. 


THE   GAME   OF   CHESS. 

CALMLY  as  an  enchanter,  oft  beside  the  checkered  field, 
I  sit,  to  guide  the  puppets  small,  that  mimic  history  yield. 
Quick,  as  the  sun  of  thought  sends  action  to  their  pulse 
less  hone, 
Each  little  form  is  made  to  fill  a  purpose  not  its  own. 

Move   on,  ye  ranks  of  soldier-pawns,  deep  mingle  in  the 

fight- 
No  refuge  shall  this  castle  yield  unto  the  errant  knight — 
Yon  mitred  bishop  low  shall  bend,  when  king  and  queen 

have  fled, 
And  soon  this  hand,  omnipotent,  shall  lay  them  with  the 

dead! 

This  is  my  Coliseum,  where  in  gladiatorial  strife, 
Perdition-doomed  be  every  one  to  whom  I  gave  a  life ; 
I  register  no  slavish  skill,  I  heed  not  chess-born  woe  : 
None  on  that  board  shall  e'er  aspire  my  purposes  to  know  ! 


THE  GAME  OF  CHESS  35 

Thus  men,  'neath  banners  black  and  white,  with  longings 

all  innate, 
Like  puppets,   follow   out   their   course,   led   by   the   hand 

of  fate ; 
And  each  brief  trial  tells  this  tale  :   that  nought  is  left  to 

choose 
Where   e'en   the   bravest   comes  to  grief,  and   winners  too 

must  lose. 

'Tis  passion  leads  us  all  astray,  wrapt  in  delusive  thought ; 
Vain  in  this  labyrinthine  world  enduring  hold  is  sought; 
The  spring  that  moves  our  heart  is  wound  its  numbered 

ticks  to  last; 
Life's  fleeting  record  only  shews  the  agony  of  the  past. 


THE  OLD  COMEDIAN. 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  A.  GRUN. 

THE  footlights  blaze,  the  curtains  rise, 
And  peering  are  a  thousand  eyes 
Where  tinselled  jugglers  strut  apace ; 
With  paint  begrimed  each  truthless  face. 

Yon  mountebank  of  snowy  hair, 
I  well  could  draw  his  home  despair ; 
Poor,  worn-out,  crippled  harlequin, 
His  efforts  fail  respect  to  win. 

Whilst  honored  age,  though  lorn  and  weak, 

A  tutorage  with  youth  may  seek, 

This  old,  obedient,  hired  clown 

Racks  his  stiff  joints  to  please  the  town. 


THE   OLD   COMEDIAN.  37 

Old  men,  they  court  repose  by  night  ; 
The  aged  arm  forgets  its  might ; 
'Tis  raised  to  guide,  or  to  caress — 
'Tis  folded  prayerful,  and  to  bless. 


Those  trembling  hands  hang  by  his  side ; 
Those  valiant  lips  his  limbs  deride ; 
And  when  to  points  the  text  may  soar, 
With  loud  guffaw  the  groundlings  roar. 


Though  chronic  pains  may  pinch  his  frame, 
He  must  be  Momus,  ever  the  same; 
To  those  who  see  him  night  by  night, 
His  tears  would  prove  a  rare  delight. 


But  lo !  how  faint  the  actor  speaks  : 
He  falters,  and  an  exit  seeks. 
"Old  Thespian,  hast  forgot  thy  cue? 
Thy  walk's  unsteady,  thy  text  untrue  ! " 


In  vain  the  old  comedian  tries 
To  silence  insult ;  murmurs  rise  ; 
Away  he  totters  with  alarm, 
And  falls  within  the  prompter's  arm. 


38  THE   OLD   COMEDIAN. 

On  comedy  the  curtains  rose  ; 

On  tragedy  the  players  close. 

The  vulgar  crowd,  they  whistle  and  cry 

A  dying  actor's  litany. 


Behind  the  curtains,  within  a  chair, 
Ruddy  of  cheek  and  brown  of  hair, 
A  corpse  is  resting;  its  brow  is  cold, 
And  on  it  a  painted  lie  is  told. 


For  the  mien  that  made  the  idle  laugh, 
It  looks  a  solemn  epitaph ; 
False  and  hollow  is  all  we  see — 
His  life,  his  art,  were  mockery  ! 


Never  will  rustle  in  nature's  breeze 
Those  faded,  painted,  canvass  trees  ; 
And  the  oily  moon  that  gleams  o'erhead 
Never  learned  to  weep  for  the  dead. 


From  a  motley  group,  'neath  a  tattered  sky, 
Comes  one  to  speak  this  eulogy : 
He  fought  and  fell,  as  heroes  yield, 
Upon  the  drama's  battle-field." 


THE  OLD  COMEDIAN.  39 

Then  a  dancing  girl,  as  a  beggarly  muse, 
Upon  his  brow,  with  shabby  excuse, 
Pressed  a  laurel  wreath  that  some  Caesar  had  worn — 
A  paper  invention,  dirty  and  torn. 


His  funeral  procession  numbered  two ; 
Brief  was  the  pageant,  the  costs  were  few; 
And  as  they  laid  him  away  to  rest, 
I  heard  no  pity,  I  heard  no  jest. 


KAMBLEE,  AND   SHEPHERD. 

"HAPPY  Shepherd, 
Piping  thy  lay, 
Where  the  flocks 
Are  dancing  at  play; 
Life-companion 
Of  lambs  and  flowers, 
Counting  in  roses 
The  toilsome  hours ; 

"  Though  thrush  and  linnet 
Have  sung  in  vain, 
Thy  artless  ditties 
My  heart  regain; 
And  world's  ambition 
Is  all  forgot 
In  leafy  dwelling 
And  shepherd  lot ! " 


RAMBLER  AND   SHEPHERD.  41 

"  Wanderer,  to  clrildhood, 
Gentle  and  meek, 
I  may  in  prattle 
Oft  eloquent  speak ; 
And  for  the  maiden 
My  strains  can  swell 
To  sweet  responses 
No  lips  dare  tell." 

More  would  lie  say — 
But  steps  drew  near : 
Louder  he  pipes 
The  melody  clear; 
Sweetly  vibrating 
Resounds  a  lute, 
Mingling  concord 
With  pastoral  flute. 

Nodding  ringlets 

And  eyes  are  seen, 

That  smile  on  the  shepherd, 

From  over  the  green ; 

Ah,  their  lustre — 

It  told  of  more 

Than  all  that  the  shepherd 

Had  hinted  before. 


42  KAMBLEK  AND   SHEPHERD. 

"  Shepherd,  thy  pastimes 
My  dreams  fulfil : 
Lend  me  thy  pipe, 
And  teach  me  thy  skill; 
Yield  me  thy  magic  — 
Train  me  thy  ways  — 
That  I  too  may  share 
In  Arcadian  days  ! " 

Then  spake  the  maiden, 
Archly,  and  wise  : 

"  Fertile  our  valley, 
And  quiet  our  skies ; 
But  to  "be  happy — " 
She  whispered  to  me — 

"You,  like  shepherds, 
In  love  must  be." 


VESUVIUS. 


THY  greeting,  fairest  Italy, 

In  numbers  I  would  sing ; 

Thy  waves,  thy  skies,  thy  women's  eyes 

Their  sparkling  offerings  bring. 


Thy  lovely  bay's  cerulean  waves 
Refresh  my  famished  eyes; 
Earth's  towering  altar  flames  on  high- 
Olympian  grandeurs  rise. 


I  view  a  living  pyramid — 
A  cauldron  self-renewed — 
A  cousin  of  the  lunar  peaks — 
A  monster  unsubdued. 


44  VESUVIUS. 

Wave-bound,  on  far  Sicilia's  isle, 
Thy  brother,  jiEtna,  sleeps, 
"Whom,  like  a  captive  Titan  king, 
Neptune  in  durance  keeps. 


Linked  with  a  grander  fate  art  thou; 
Proud  Naples  kneels  to  thee, 
Thoughtful  of  Herculaneum 
Beneath  the  molten  sea. 


'Twas  when  thy  minions  laid  waste 
This  now  sepulchral  spot, 
Where  spectres  of  the  past  arise, 
Of  households  long  forgot. 


From  hollow  voice  came  thy  commands  - 
In  wrath  thy  white  beard  shook; 
Tempests  arose  and  sunlight  paled 
'Neath  thy  defiant  look. 


Aloft  in  air  the  wild  birds  screamed, 
The  wild  beasts  moaned  with  fear ; 
From  herded  men  the  frantic  cry 
Replaced  both  prayer  and  tear. 


VESUVIUS. 


They  perished  all,  and  chaos  came 
Like  deluge  passed  away ; 
Where  villa,  grot  and  temple  stood 
A  pall  of  ashes  lay. 


Slain  were  thy  guards,  fair  Pompeii — 
Thy  hosts,  thy  guests,  have  fled ; 
Strangers  now  quaff -from  Caesar's  vaults, 
And  drink  to — Caesar's  dead. 


Old  mount,  though  thou  hast  Sodom's  fate 
Transplanted  to  thy  home, 
Thou  gains 't  for  art  rich  legacy 
From  old,  imperial  Rome. 


L I  B  R  A  Li  Y 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

CALIFORNIA. 


ERL  KING'S  DAUGHTER. 


FROM  AN  OLD  TEUTONIC  LEGEND. 

Longfellow's  "Poets  and  Poetry  of  Europe,"  in  a  translation  entitled  "Sir  Olcfa  Bridal," 
presents  a  Swedish  version  of  this  ancient  ballad.  It  would  seem  that  Goethe,  when. 
composing  his  "Erl  King,"  derived  several  hints  from  the  materials  of  the  present 
poem.  Professor  Aytoun  alludes  to  this  circumstance,  in  a  note  appended  to  his  trans. 
lations  of  the  "Poems  and  Ballads  of  Goethe,"  and  also  renders  aversion  of  the  presant 
ballad 

'TWAS  night  in  the  forest.     Sir  Oluf  rode  by ; 
He  had  summoned  his  wedding  company. 


Shadows  were  dancing  on  the  green  land ; 
The  Erl  King's  daughter  grasped  his  hand. 

"  Welcome,  Sir  Oluf;  turn  not  to  flee  : 
Join  our  revels,  and  dance  with  me. 

"  I  may  not  dance,  I  must  not  stay, 
For  to-morrow  will  he  my  bridal  day." 

"  Listen,  Sir  Oluf :  come  join  with  me, 
And  these  spurs  of  gold  thy  trophies  shall  be. 


ERL  KING'S  DAUGHTER.  47 

"  Wear  this  robe  of  gossamer  slight, 
That  I've  woven,  and  bleached  by  the  pale  moon-light." 

"  ]\Iy  vow  is  another's,  time  calls  away ; 
I  must  to  the  castle  ere  dawn  of  day." 

"  Relent,  noble  knight,  and  enter  our  ranks  ; 
These  jewels  shall  be  my  token  of  thanks." 

"  Thy  gems  are  welcome,  with  them  will  I  ride, 
To  adorn  at  the  altar  my  trusting  bride." 

He  took  from  the  elf  maid  a  glittering  flower : 
Sir  Oluf  was  hers  from  that  very  hour  ! 

His  heart  was  smitten  with  pangs  so  sore, 
That  he  quailed  as  he  never  had  done  before. 

Fainting,  she  lifted  him  on  his  steed  : 
The  iron-cased  warrior  of  help  had  need ! 

When  his  steed  regained  the  castle  gate, 
Long  had  his  mother  been  standing  in  wait. 

"  Whence  comest  thou,  by  dawn,  my  child  ? 
Thy  features  are  pallid,  thy  look  is  wild !" 
5 


48  EKL  KING'S  DAUGHTER. 

"  Mother,  I'm  faint,  and  unnerved  by  fright ; 
I  met  the  Erl  King's  daughter  this  night!" 

"  Get  thee  to  couch ;    evil  haunts  thee,  son ; 
Thy  vows  are  forfeit,  thy  bridal's  undone  ! " 

"  Tell  the  fair  lady  that  I  may  be  found, 
Training  the  falcon  and  coursing  the  hound." 

Soon  morning  broke ;   by  the  sunlight  clear, 
Both  bride  and  wedding  guests  appear. 

They  spread  the  feast,  they  poured  the  wine  : 
"  Where  is  Sir  Oluf,  the  bridegroom  mine  ? 

"  Is  the  gallant  knight  riding  at  morn 
In  the  tangled  forest,  estray  and  lorn?" 

They  search  the  wildwood  for  many  an  hour; 
They  scan  the  castle,  from  vault  to  tower. 

By  the  shrieking  bride  the  guests  stand  aghast : 
In  a  lowly  chamber  they  found  him  at  last. 

Sir  Oluf— in  death  on  his  couch  he  lay: 
The  elf  maid  had  stolen  his  life  away. 


NIAGARA. 

ERE  beings  with  soul  and  mind  arrayed 
Their  earthly  habitation  had  made  — 
When  the  Saurian  monsters  in  agony  lay, 
Stricken  by  doom,  on  their  beds  of  clay — 
Like  a  meteor,  illuming  some  desolate  land, 
Niagara  leaped  from  its  Maker's  hand ! 

Once  spirits  of  beauty  that  manhood  enslave 
At  nightfall  were  seen  on  its  emerald  wave ; 
In  seraphic  strain  they  whispered  a  song 
Whose  rapturous  concords  to  Eden  belong. 
They  hunted  the  thicket  with  spear  and  with  bow, 
Or  called  the  Naiades  from  their  caverns  below, 
To  search  for  the  living  trophies  that  sink 
In  the  green  gulf  of  water  that  flows  o'er  the  brink 

A  fairy  isle  trembles  on  the  cataract's  crest, 
Beloved  by  the  waves,  that  hold  it  compressed ; 


50  NIAGARA. 

And,  like  worshipping  Magii,  rainbows  arise, 

'Neath  these  acres  of  paradise  dropped  from  the  skies. 

Transition  and  death  now  dwell  in  the  smile 

Of  the  white,  foaming  rapids  that  sweep  past  the  isle ; 

Could  their  waters  but  cleanse  the  deep  stain  of  man's  sin, 

How  many  a  diver  the  torrent  would  win  ! 

In  vain  the  Ice-king,  whose  touch  is  death, 
Would  stem  the  wild  current,  with  Arctic  breath; 
With  slow-creeping  gait,  and  palsying  shock, 
Though  he  bind  the  cataract  fast  to  the  rock, 
Long  ere  the  green  blade  has  pierced  the  ground, 
Sunbeams  dispel  the  enchantment  around, 
And  the  waters  rush  on  to  the  far  distant  sea, 
As  if  wandering  their  way  to  eternity. 


TELESCOPE    AND    FIRMAMENT. 

STARS  of  evening,  isles  of  promise, 
Hieroglyphics  of  the  skies — 
Vainly  the  Egyptian  shepherds 
Read  your  signs,  with  weary  eyes. 

Happy  we,  whose  quickened  senses 
Reach  beyond  the  airy  seas, 
Where,  in  space,  our  life-boat  launches — 
Hopeful  as  the  "  Genoese." 

"Colon"*  found  lost  "Atalantis," 
And  recovered  Earth's  domain : 
Through  the  glass  we've  found  our  future- 
View  the  homes  our  spirits  gain. 

*  Christopher  Colon,  the  discoverer  of  America. 


52  TELESCOPE  AND  FIRMAMENT. 

Hail  to  science !  from  whose  teaching 
Rajs  of  revelation  beam: 
Stars  to  worlds  become  exalted 
From  the  beacon-lights  they  seem. 


Thus,  the  globe  shrinks  in  dimension, 
We  but  fill  an  atom's  place; 
Holier  climes  are  floating  round  us, 
Peopled  by  a  mightier  race. 


When  the  compact  has  expired 
'Twixt  our  soul  and  earthly  frame, 
And  this  spirit  from  its  thraldom 
Rises  like  a  heavenly   flame ; 


Planet  sires  our  forms  may  fashion — 
Call  us  from  the  "vasty  deep;" 
Out  of  laps  of  saintly  mothers 
We  to  infant  life  may  creep. 


God  of  wonders  !  where  thy  marvels 
Stun  our  mind  and  stay  our  breath,. 
There  I  read:  we  shall  not  perish 
In  the  idleness  of  death. 


LENORE-. 


TRANSLATED    FROM    THE   GERMAN. 


Von  Arnim  and  Brentano,  the  compilers  of  a,  valuable  collection  of  ancient  German  poem* 
entitled  '  GtS  Snabm  ©JHuntlErfjOrn,"  assert  that  Burger's  ballad  "Lenore  "  is 
founded  on  the  following  poem.  Burger,  who  is  guilty  of  having  passed  several  transla 
tions  from  English  authors  as  his  own  original  composition,  says :  he  derived  the 
conception  of  his  best  achievement  from  an  imperfect  refrain  that  he  casually  overheard 
when  sung  by  a  peasant  girl.  Voss.  a  good  literary  scholar,  and  oo-temporwy  of  Burger' 
remarks  that  the  version  incorporated  in  the  collection  of  Von  Arnim  and  Brentano  la 
equally  modern  with  that  of  Burger. 

ABO  YE  the  stars  are  twinkling — 
The  moon  is  shining  bright — 
And  the  dead  they  ride  by  night. 


"My  love,  wilt  ope  thy  window; 
I  cannot  long  remain, 
And  may  not  come  again. 


1  The  cock  already  crows  — 
Tells  of  the  dawning  day, 
And  warns  me  far  away. 


54  LENOKE. 


"  My  journey  distant  lies  ; 
Afar  with  thee,  my  bride 
A  hundred  leagues  we'll  ride. 


In  Hungary's  fair  land 
I've  found  a  tranquil  spot: 
A  little  garden  plot. 


"And  there,  within  the  green, 
A  little  cottage  rests, 
Befitting  bridal  guests." 


"  Oh  thou  hast  lingered  long ; 
Beloved,  welcome  here — 
Lead  on,  I'll  never  fear." 


"  So,  wrap  my  mantle  round ; 
The  moon  will  be  our  guide, 
And  quick  by  night  we'll  ride." 


When  will  our  journey  end  1 
For  heavy  grows  my  sight, 
And  lonely  is  the  night." 


LENORE.  5/5 


"  Yon  gate  leads  to  our  home ; 
Our  "bridal  tour  is  done  — 
My  purpose  now  is  won. 


"  Dismount  we  from  our  steed  j 
Here  lay  thy  aching  head— 
This  tomb's  our  bridal  bed. 


"  Now  art  thou  truly  mine  : 
I  rode  away  thy  breath — 
Thou  art  the  bride  of  death  ! " 


MARRIAGE. 

LOVE'S  magnet-like — by  instinct  hearts  are  mated; 
To  live  in  pairs,  we  were  in  pairs  created. 

'Tis  wedlock  wins  the  heritage  of  earth  ; 
Then  squander  not  thy  claim  to  man's  estate. 
Though  anchorite  and  nun  lead  barren  lives, 
Ours  is  the  fate  to  dwell  in  living  hives ; 
And  when  at  length  in  death  these  shores  we  flee, 
Children  renew  life's  bond  eternally. 

All  ties  of  home  are  transient :  younger  claims 
Soon  ask  a  sister's,  or  a  brother's  care ; 
Death  leads  away  our  parents,  friends  enstrange — 
Their  habits,  our  convictions,  — how  they  change  ! 
When  time  has  flung  its  burden  on  thy  back, 
What  bliss  to  have  a  loved-one  by  thy  side, 
Who,  hand-in-hand,  has  wandered  far  with  thee. 
Toward  the  portals  of  eternity. 


MARRIAGE. 

Seek  not  'mong  vain  and  night-parading  things 
For  company  with  whom  to  link  thy  fate  : 
For  them  thy  purse  must  golden  grains  distil, 
That  they  may  moult  gay  feathers  at  their  will ; 
To  perch  in  gilded  cage  on  rose-wood  frames, 
And  feed  from  crystal  cups,  are  all  their  aims. 
By  night  may'st  thou  thy  paragon  dove  display— 
Although  she  prove  an  owl  concealed  by  day — 
That  wives  may  envy  and  men  emulate 
Home  misery  and  happiness  of  state  ! 

Go,  find  some  truer  type  of  woman-kind ; 
One  moved  by  kindred  soul,  thy  peer  in  mind, 
Whose  aspirations  will  not  fail  to  show 
A  wife  in  feeling,  a  mother  in  embryo ; 
Whose  every  purpose  twining  with  thine  own 
Completes  itself  when  both  to  one  are  grown. 


THE  GRENADIEKS. 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  HEINE. 

Most  of  Heine's  Poems  have  been  successfully  interpreted  by  recent 
English  and  American  translations. 

T'WAKDS  France  were  wandering  two  grenadiers, 

From  Russian  captivity  returning ; 
And  when  to  the  German  encampment  they  came, 

With  pain  their  wounds  were  burning. 


They  bowed  their  heads,  when  they  heard  the  tale 
That  the  empire's  star  had  vanished ; 

Scattered  and  slain  were  the  heroes  of  old, 
And  Napoleon,  the  conqueror,  banished  ! 


Then  together  wept  these  guardsmen  old, 

At  the  tales  so  oft  repeated; 
Said  one :   "  Comrade,  I  sink  with  shame, 

When  I  think  of  our  armies  defeated." 


THE   GRENADIERS.  59 

The  other  replied  :    "  We  are  undone  ! 

Death  soon  would  hide  my  anguish, 
Had  I  not  wife  and  child  at  home, 

Where  now  in  want  they  languish." 


"  I  heed  not  wife,  I  heed  not  child, 

Since  pur  country's  greatness  has  vanished ; 
Weep  hungry  wife,  beg  orphan  child — 
Our  emperor's  degraded  and  banished  ! 

"  Comrade,  grant  me  one  only  boon : 

If  in  stranger's  land  I  perish, 
Convey  my  corpse  to  its  native  soil — 
France — the  home  that  we  cherish. 


"  This  cross  of  honor,  with  ribbon  red, 

To  victory  shall  guide  me; 
This  musket  place  in  my  left  hand, 
And  gird  my  sword  beside  me. 

"Hid  in  the  grave,  I'll  listen  still, 
Like  a  picket,  lonely  camping, 
Till  I  hear  the  drum's  and  musket's  din, 
And  the  cavalry's  loud  tramping. 
6 


60  THE  GRENADIERS. 

"  When  the  emperor  returns,  to  win  again 

Lost  battle-fields  so  gory, 
Then  quick  I'll  rise,  a  warrior  armed, 
To  fight  for  'France  and  glory  T" 


A   NIGHT    VISION. 


I  KNOW  not  how  it  happened  that 

One  evening,  lone  and  late, 

I  rested  from  a  weary  walk, 

Beside  a  church-yard  gate ; 

The  street  was  hushed,  the  stars  shone  out, 

The  city's  lights  grew  pale ; 

I  heard  nought  but  the  watchman's  tap, 

And  night-bird's  lonely  wail. 

I  thought  of  life,  its  hope  and  strife, 

Of  idols  'neath  the  dust  ; 

And  many  a  deep-set  hinge  was  moved, 

That  long  had  gone  to  rust : 

Relentless  doom,  that  youth  and  strength 

Should  waste  away  and  fall  j 

Ah,  why  is  nature's  life-crop  sown 

That  death  may  harvest  all ! 


62  A  NIGHT  VISION. 

Thus  as  I  mused  a  vision  crept 
From  bush  and  mossy  stone : 
Methought  a  muffled  form  approached, 
Like  one  whom  I  had  known. 
The  image  lived,  the  image  spoke, 
In  accents  soft  and  slow : 
"  I  bring  thee  echoes  of  the  grave, 
From  wanderings  below. 

"  Too  early  severed  were  the  ties 
That  clustered  'round  my  birth  ; 
Friend-less  and  child-less  have  I  lived, 
Nor  e'er  knew  woman's  worth. 
The  demon  of  gain  soon  conquered  me, 
And  I  became  his  slave; 
My  purse  was  haunted  with  tear  and  curse, 
For  I  took,  but  never  gave. 

"  Beneath  the  sod  I  sought  repose ; 

But  at  the  door  of  death 

No  welcome  came  :   this  worn-out  trunk 

Refilled  with  living  breath, 

And  veiled  in  gloom,  a  seraph  spoke 

In  tones  of  wonderous  sound : 
•  Return  to  life,  within  this  tomb, 

No  refuge  can  be  found. 


A  NIGHT  YISION.  63 

" '  The  widow  and  the  orphan  seek, 
Go,  heal  their  suffering  deep, 
And  o'er  life's  path  sow  fertile  seed, 
That  blessings  thou  may'st  reap. 
Through  manhood  back  to  infancy 
Thy  life  once  more  retrace, 
'Till  thou  at  last,  a  sinless  babe, 
Canst  meet  thy  Maker's  face. 

"  '  Electric  flashes  then  illumed 
These  eyes  so  heaven-blind; 
These  icy  limbs  were  thawed  to  life, 
Aroused  this  feeble  mind. 
Oh,  wearied  sense,  blunted  desire, 
That  I  from  rest  am  driven, 
To  spin  once  more  the  thread  of  life, 
And  wend  my  way  from  heaven !'  " 

The  cricket  chirped — the  vision  fled ! 

'Twas  dewy  morning  hour; 

I  felt  alike  some  hapless  wretch, 

Keleased  from  demon-power. 

Why  did  this  coward  flesh  with  fear 

Wax  motionless,  and  cold  ] 

For  in  a  dreaming  was  to  me 

This  spectral  legend  told. 


A  WINTER'S  EIDE. 


FOUNDED  ON  A  GERMAN  BALLAD  BY  G.  SCHWAB. 


ON  snow-fields  shimmers  the  sunlight  clear, 
A  horseman  rides  through  the  forest  drear. 

Onward  he  spurs  t'ward  Constance  Lake; 
His  steed  flies,  panting,  o'er  field  and  brake 

Away  it  strides,  to  its  utmost  reach, 
Afar  in  the  sky  the  snow-geese  screech; 

And  the  water-fowl  flutter,  with  startled  cry, 
As  the  twain,  like  spectres,  are  hurrying  by. 

They  would  reach  the  ferry  ere  night  sets  in, 
In  safety  the  furthermost  shore  to  win. 


A  WINTER'S  HIDE.  65 

Not  guide  nor  wayfarer  meet  their  gaze, 
To  lead  them  safely  o'er  trackless  ways. 


H. 


Evening  creeps  into  dusky  night ; 

In  the  distance  glimmers  a  flickering  light. 

The  ground  now  rustles  with  stone  and  thorn ; 
Faintly  resounds  the  mountaineer's  horn. 

Dogs  bark  loud  at  the  rider's  side; 
The  village-inn  opens  its  portals  wide. 

"  Fair  dame  at  the  doorway,  that  beckonest  to  me, 
How  far  am  I  distant  from  Constance  Sea  ?" 

The  landlady,  lost  in  wonder,  replies  : 
"  Its  deep  blue  water  behind  thee  lies." 

The  stranger  shuddered,  and  faintly  spake : 
"  I  found  no  ferry — I  saw  no  lake." 

Then  the  startled  villager  raised  her  hand : 
"  'Twas  the  ice  that  bridged  thee  from  land  to  land  !5> 


66  A  WINTER'S  RIDE. 

And  the  gathering  crowd  was  heard  to  say : 
"  In  the  keeping  of  God  did  he  find  his  way." 


III. 


"  Dismount  and  partake  of  cheer  and  repose ; 
Warm  thy  chilled  blood  that  sluggishly  flows. 

"  Recount  by  the  hearthstone  thy  marvellous  ride ; 
How  the  sure-footed  steed  bounded  over  the  tide  " 

The  traveller  heard  not  their  welcoming  calls  : 
Faint  and  benumbed  from  his  horse  he  falls. 

The  fearful  illusion  had  stricken  his  brain 
That  he  rode  the  snow-fields  over  again. 

He  heard  the  crash,  and  he  felt  the  wave  : 
In  the  abyss  of  waters  he  found  his  grave. 


IMMORTALITY. 


APAE,  we  stretch  our  bold,  unbounded  thought- 
Yearn  for  a  future  that  we  all  expect; 
Are  we  a  toy,  for  saintly  pastime  formed — 
Or  are  we  shadows  of  an  angel  sect  ? 


Why  should  our  Maker  plant  a  vain  desire 
Or  hopeless  aim  in  our  confiding  breast  1 
Why  cast  us  off,  like  self-deluded  clowns, 
To  waste  or  perish  in  our  tomb  of  rest  ? 


Clear-visioned  grows  the  blinded  owl  by  night; 
The  insect  scents  its  mate,  though  far  away ; 
The  lizard's  nerves  foretell  the  coming  storm  : 
We  feel  the  advent  of  some  future  day. 


68  IMMORTALITY. 

Earth's  driven  sands  count  many  as  of  yore ; 
Each  cloud,  dispersed,  in  raindrops  shall  unite ; 
Thus  our  stray  lives  will  gather  once  again 
Within  their  native  realm  of  truth  and  light. 


We  know  God  in  his  mystery  has  ordained 
That  human  spirits  shall  descend  to  earth, 
And  that  our  buried  dust  may  rise  again, 
To  shape  some  infant  struggling  for  its  birth. 


But  ne'er  this  mind,  that  earthly  things  controls 
May  linger  here,  nor  shall  "  to  dust  return ; " 
Death — strikes  the  fetters  from  our  heaven-born  souls, 
And  gleans — our  ashes  in  the  mourner's  urn. 


L 1  B  K  A  K  Y    ^j 

UNIVEliSITY  OF  I 

CALIFORNIA. 


THE   GIANT'S  PLAYTHING. 

TRANSLATED    FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  CHAMISSO. 

IN  Alsace  lies  a  castle,  by  many  a  tale  renowned, 
Within  whose  walls,  in  olden  time,  a  giant  race  was  found. 
Its  towers  are  decked  with  mosses  and  tumbled  in  decay; 
In  vain  you  ask  of  giants  —  their  race  has  passed  away. 

Once  went  the  giant's  daughter  beyond  the  fastness  strong, 
And  wandered  heedless  onward,  the  rocks  and  wilds  among  j 
'Neath  precipices  creeping,  she  sought  the  plains  below — 
Through   clouds    and    mist    descending,   where    glistening 
rivers  flow. 

With  eager  step  she  strided  through  orchard  and  o'er  field, 
T'ward   Haslach's   blooming  valleys,  that   golden  harvests 

yield; 
From  forge  and  mill  and  cottage,  whence    smoky  vapors 

curled, 
She  heard  the  busied  humming  within  the  pigmy  world. 


70  THE   GIANT'S  PLAYTHING. 

And  as  she  gazed  intently,  with  wonder-stricken  eye, 

A  lonely  peasant  wandered  within  a  field  of  rye  ; 

Strange   seemed   the   little   creature,  thus   creeping   in    the 

green, 
And  like  a  gem  the  little  plow   gleamed   with  its   silvery 

sheen. 

"  Oh  what  a  pretty  plaything  within  the  grass  I've  found," 
Said  she,  and  quickly  spreading  her  'kerchief  on  the  ground, 
Within  its  folds  of  linen  the  living  heap  she  brushed, 
And  tied  it  up  with  caution,  that  nothing  should  be  crushed. 

Then  like  a  child  she  gambolled  towards  the  castle's  height, 
With  wond'rous  trophies  freighted,  to  glad  her  parent's  sight : 
"  Come  hither,  dearest  father,  strange  beings  have  I  found  ; 
These  curious  little  creatures  were  crawling  on  the  ground  !" 

The  father  sat  at  table,  regaling  him  with  wine — 

For  giants  oft  were  thirsty,  and  giants  too  must  dine ; 

"  What  floundering  object  bringst  thou  within  thy  'kerchief 

tied — 
Thou't  breathless  as  a  vampire,  and  giddy  as  a  bride  ! " 

The  living  heap  was  lifted  and  oped  with  eager  hand  : 
Lo,  peasant,  plow  and  oxen  before  the  father  stand  j 
More  curious  than  playthings  that  are  a   child's  delight, 
So  dwarf-like,  so  amusing  they  seemed  to  giant's  sight. 


THE   GIANT'S  PLAYTHING.  71 

Then  frowned  the  earnest  parent,  and  shook  his  bushy  head; 
"  Kestrain  thy  truant  rambles,"  the  stalwart  father  said ; 
"  Replace  these  pilfered  tokens,  else  sorrow  comes  of  joy — 
These  cattle  are  not  playthings,  the  peasant  is  no  toy  ! 

"  For  farmer,  plow  and  oxen  purvey  our  daily  food ; 
Without  their  menial  labor  earth  were  a  solitude ; 
Their  toil  supplies  our  coffers,  and  grows  our  flesh  and  bone : 
We  have  by  others'  efforts  to  size  and  power  grown  !  " 

In  Alsace  lies  the  castle,  by  many  a  tale  renowned, 
Within  whose  walls,  in  olden  time,  a  giant  race  was  found  ; 
Its  towers  are  decked  with  mosses,  and  tumbled  in  decay  : 
Would  that  the  thoughtful  giants  had  never  passed  away  ! 


BURIED    ALIVE. 


IN  quest  of  living  ruins  have  I  come — 

To  view  the  past  in.  this  Mausoleum, 

Where  banished  greatness,  lost  to  happier  days, 

Like  moonlight  ruins  opens  to  our  gaze. 


Here  dwells  the  sage  who  oft,  a  suitor  bold, 
Unveiled  coy  nature — one  who  could  unfold 
The  springs  of  human  heart — now  grown  akin 
To  Nebuchadnezzar,  whom  the  curse  of  God 
Sent  to  the  fields,  to  pasture  on  the  sod. 
Not  wit  nor  learning  light  that  darkened  mind ; 
A  seeming  Centaur — man  and  beast  combined — 
A  savage,  clown  and  seer  I  view  in  thee — 
An  ogre  come  to  flesh  reality  — 
Who  in  this  lonely  place  exhorting  calls 
Rats  from  their  holes,  and  spiders  from  their  walls  ! 


BUEIED  ALIVE.  73 

Tearful  appeals — alas,  thou  heedst  them  not ! 
Long  have  thy  kindred  been  by  thee  forgot. 
What  though  thy  fame's  in  every  household  known, 
Thyself  to  mankind  art  a  stranger  grown  • 
What  though  thy  wasted  form  partake  of  bread  — 
Thy  mindless  body  represents  the  dead  ! 


Give  utterance !    That  stare  which  frightful  seems, 
Can  it  be  "  rambling  in  the  land  of  dreams  ? " 
Teach  us  to  comprehend  the  signs  that  tell 
Whither  with  airy  shadows  thou  dost  dwell. 
Methinks  some  Eurydice  has  led  astray 
To  hold  thy  spirit  spell-bound  far  away  ? 
Hast  thou  too  ardent  wooed  the  Muse  of  Song — 
Too  deeply  worshipped  Bacchus,  and  too  long? 
Would  that  our  prayers,  with  telegraphic  speed, 
Could  reach  thy  captive  spirit  in  its  needj 
In  vain  we  call  "  return  thou  errant  son, 
To  us,  from  purgatorial  wandering  won." 


EGYPT. 

WHERE  wind-moved  sands  roll  o'er  the  desert  ground, 
No  flower  blooms,  nor  song-bird  flits  around ; 
There,  by  the  moon,  the  fierce  hyena  howls 
'Mong  ruins,  where  the  Vengeful  Bedouin  prowls, 
Guerrilla-like  to  slay  each  Frankish  man, 
Or  overcome  th'  unguarded  caravan. 

Monsters  forgot  are  buried  'neath  the  plain. 
And  ruined  temples  lay  like  giants  slain; 
There  the  shame-visaged  Sphynx*  sinks  in  her  bed, 
Whilst  the  proud  pyramid  still  lifts  its  head, 
Upbraiding  time,  conversing  with  the  skies — 
The  desert  blast  and  thunderbolt  defies  ! 
The  sorcerer's  art  and  wily  power  unknown 
That  won  these  trophies  from  a  distant  zone ; 
Old  as  geology  itself  they  seem, 
Though  faint  their  history,  like  an  infant's  dream! 


*  The  profile  of  this  ancient  deity  was  grossly  mutilated  by  the  Saracens,  during 
the  middle  ages.  Modern  investigation  has  shown  that  its  colossal  body  lies  deeply 
sunken  beneath  the  drifted  sands  of  the  desert. 


EGYPT.  75 

The  race  that  planted  Thebes  above  the  ground, 
That  waked  these  altars  to  prophetic  sound, 
Were  neither  winged  nor  giant,  black  nor  red. 
These  catacombs  disclose  the  honored  dead, 
Whose  mummied  forms  do  yet  await  the  day 
When  souls  shall  come  unto  their  former  clay. 
From  out  these  temples  came  the  living  word 
Of  science,  and  the  knowledge  of  the  Lord, 
Whence  Plato  copied,  well-taught  Moses  drew 
The  inspirations  and  the  truths  they  knew. 
Oh,  recent  Joseph,  shepherd  Pharaoh* 
None  of  these  ancient  Thebans  did  ye  know ; 
Greek  Cleopatras  and  Ptolemys, 
To  you  were  veiled  Barneses'  mysteries  ! 
On  stony  page,  by  chisel  skill  defined 
Time's  record  lives  :    our  mental  vision's  blind— 
Our  cunning's  baffled — and  the  link  that  bound 
Us  to  the  primeval  past  may  ne'er  be  found. 


*  Historians  explain  that  the  term  "pharaoh"  was  a  general  one,  applied  to 
successive  rulers  of  lower  Egypt  by  an  alien  nomadic  tribe,  who  in  the  time  of 
"  Joseph  "  had  overrun  and  conquered  a  portion  of  the  Egyptian  territory. 


THE  RECOGNITION. 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  VOGL. 

THERE  comes  a  wanderer,  staff  in  hand, 
Homeward  returning  from  distant  land. 

His ,  beard  is  tangled,  his  face  is  brown  ; 

Will  they  know  him  again  in  his  native  town  ? 

Enraptured  he  nears  the  city-gate, 

Where  the  toller  of  yore  is  standing  in  wait. 

'Twas  a  youthful  comrade,  true  and  fast; 
Once  many  a  wine-cup  between  them  passed. 

Tet  strange — the  toll-gatherer  knows  him  not? 
Do  beard  and  sunshine  his  features  blot? 


THE  RECOGNITION.  77 

He  shakes  the  dust  from  his  trodden  boot; 
He  turns  in  silence,  with  "brief  salute. 

Behold — his  true-love  stands  at  the  door: 
"  Thou  blooming  fair-one,  welcome  once  more  ! " 

But  the  maid,  unconscious,  remains  unmoved ! 
She  knows  not  the  voice  of  her  once-beloved. 

He  bends  his  step  t'wards  childhood's  home ; 
To  his  cheek  so  brown  the  teardrops  come. 

Near  the  cot  his  mother  is  wending  her  way : 
"  God  bless  thee,  beloved!"  —  'tis  all  he  can  say. 

The  mother — she  turns  and  shouts  with  joy; 
In  her  arms  she  is  clasping  her  truant  boy. 

Though  the  sun  may  swart,  and  the  beard  may  grow, 
The  mother,  the  mother  her  son  doth  know. 


THE    AGE    OF  PROGRESS. 


HOW  happy  in  this  solitude  to  dwell! 
Where  whispering  thoughts  their  admonitions  tell ; 
God's  handiworks  extort  my  feehle  praise ; 
Each  rising  sun  shall  "bring  me  Sabbath  days. 


Delay  ye  nights  that  frost  the  forests  red, 
Paint  not  the  leafy  shrouds  of  autumn's  dead, 
But  spare  these  blooming  woodland  scenes  to  me, 
Where  thought  and  legend  dwell  in  every  tree. 


Faint  grow  the  stories  of  the  pioneer ; 

The  revolution's  landmarks  disappear; 

The  rustic  plow  o'erturns  th'  historic  ground, 

And  ripening  grain  waves  o'er  its  gore-drenched  bound 


THE  AGE   OF  PROGRESS. 


The  yoked  kine,  the  ever  plodding  mill, 
Show  nature  humbled  by  man's  restless  will  ; 
The  clover  mead  and  flowered  garden-path, 
They  are  the  captive  valley's  epitaph. 


Hushed  are  the  war-whoop  and  respondent  scream; 
No  more  the  stag,  wolf-hunted,  seeks  the  stream; 
The  stilted  crane  no  longer  flaps  his  wings 
On  reedy  marge,  where  meek  the  robin  sings. 


Where  Mohawk  hunter  chased  the  woodland  herd, 
Aloft,  like  castled  knight,  the  royal  bird 
Maintains  his  sway,  and  views  with  glaring  eyes 
The  shepherd  flock — the  marksman's  skill  defies! 


And  truant  cascades  leap  from  sylvan  fount, 
Past  winding  paths,  that  hug  the  stalwart  mount, 
Climbing  to  heights,  from  whence,  in  outlines  gray, 
Deep  shadows  consecrate  the  parting  day. 


Ye  oaks  that  stand  athwart  the  mountain  breeze, 
Your  tops  shall  wave  in  distant  India's  seas, 
And  quick  as  ye  receive  the  woodman's  shock, 
The  powder-fiend  shall  cleave  the  stubborn  rock  ! 


THE  AGE  OF  PROGRESS. 

Anon  the  granite  block  shall  face  the  skies, 
Beared  far  on  high,  where  saintly  spires  arise  ; 
Lakes  shall  be  drained,  mountains  by  inches  fall : 
Man's  art  will  smite  and  overcome  them  all! 


Alas  !   beneath  this  ever-changing  moon 
The  Age  of  Progress  hurries  on  too  soon : 
Youth's  rosy  haunts  man's  searches  ne'er  may  find- 
For  fleeting  time  leaves  memory  far  behind. 


EXTEKNAL    PIETY. 

'TIS  Sabbath-piety  moves  the  worldly-wise — 

'Tis  church-religion  blinds  our  credulous  eyes; 

For  refugees  an  anchor  in  despair — 

A  cloak  for  madness,  that  fanatics  wear. 

Though  howling  wolves  would  not  destroy  each  other, 

Sect  curses  sect,  brother,  alas,  dooms  brother ! 

Rank  orthodoxy  is  the  set-up  price 

That  wins  the  golden  keys  of  paradise ; 

Whilst  law  is  studied  as  the  week-day  code, 

To  guide  the  pious  on  their  worldly  road. 

Mayhap  some  eulogy  proclaims  aloud 

A  genteel  exit  from  a  genteel  crowd, 

Of  one  who  knelt  at  prayer  with  yielding  mind, 

Thoughtless  in  zeal,  though  studiously  blind; 

"Who  took  the  Word  entire — a  strict  believer — 

Though  God  had  marked  him  out  an  arrant  thiever; 

Who  oft  in  holy  walks  forsook  his  race, 

That  he  might  church-ward  turn  his  saintly  face. 


82  EXTERNAL  PIETY. 

Chant  anthems,  and  give  benedictions  !  he 
Through  legacies  has  bridged  eternity. 
'Mong  chosen  men  he  consecrated  lies 
Where  willows  droop  and  epitaphs  arise ; 
A  sickening,  solemn  mockery  of  truth, 
Doubted  by  age,  but  oh  !  believed  by  youth. 


THE  SLEEP  OF  BARBAROSSA. 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  RUCKERT. 


STB  have  treated  the  same  subject  in  matre. 


THE  Emperor  Barbarossa 
Still  hides  in  caverns  deep, 

Among  his  ancient  courtiers, 
Fast  bound  in  magic  sleep. 


The  glory  of  his  empire 

Long  since  has  passed  away  : 

He  will  revive  its  splendor, 
At  no  far-distant  day. 


Upon  a  throne  of  ivory 
Reclines  the  hero  old ; 

His  mighty  arms  uplifted 

Both  sword  and  sceptre  hold. 

8 


84  THE  SLEEP  OF  BARBAROSSA 

The  beard  that  marks  the  Kaiser 
In  rays  of  fire  glows, 

And  through  the  marble  tablet 
Into  his  lap  it  grows. 


He  nods,  like  one  inspired, 

And  blinks  from  dreamy  eyes  j 

He  draws  a  breath  profoundly — 
Then  bids  a  page  arise. 


Thus  in  his  trance  he  speaketh 
"  Go  boy  without,  and  look 
If  round  this  castle-turret 
Still  flies  the  olden  rook. 


"And  if  the  rook  and  raven 

Yet  dwell  beneath  these  skies, 
A  hundred  years  must  follow 
Ere  from  my  sleep  I'll  rise." 


THE    EXPLORER. 


FOREVER  onward!  rest  forbodes  decay; 

I  breathe  to  live,  I  live  for  earthly  sway ! 

My  spirit  longs,  my  every  sense  devours 

The  scenes  that  glide  away  with  time's  swift  hours, 


Forever  onward !   why  should  distance  hide 
The  land,  the  ocean — both  expanding  wide 
Toward  the  polar  waste  and  torrid  zone, 
Where  flame  the  skies,  or  verdure  is  unknown. 


I  tramp  the  main,  and  I  invade  the  sea ; 
A  ruler's  stride  o'er  earth  was  given  me. 
Thy  term  brief,  hurried  life  I  dedicate 
To  search  the  records  of  man's  huge  estate. 


86  THE  EXPLORER. 

When  youth  no  more  in  living  embers  glows, 
When  staff,  or  crutch,  at  length  ordain  repose, 
Then  may  I  tell  of  nobler  trophies  won 
Than  thou  hast  gathered,  vain  Napoleon. 


FADING  AWAY. 

TRANSLATED    FROM  THE  GERMAN    OF  STORM. 

THE  cottage  chamber  is  close  and  still; 
Within  is  a  patient,  weak  and  ill. 

His  fevered  brow  throbbed  wildly  by  night ; 
His  heart  is  sick,  his  eye  shuns  light. 

He  holds  the  watch  in  his  withered  hand, 

Whilst  his  life  runs  out,  like  the  hour-glass*  sand. 

In  silence  he  marvels  if  breath  will  last 

'Till  the  minute  hand  thrice  o'er  the  dial  has  passed. 

A  faithful  attendant  is  watchful  and  near, 
Awaiting  day  dawn  with  sorrow  and  fear. 


88  FADING  AWAY. 

Now  it  dawne  !  the  shadows  of  midnight  depart — 
Death  slowly  winds  round  that  faint  throbbing  heart. 

Up  on  the  window  the  morning  rays  creep ; 
Bird  and  maiden  awaken  from  sleep. 

Freshened  nature  lives  over  her  youthful  hours, 
And  May-bells  ring  in  the  feast  of  flowers. 

Merry  young  plowmen  rove  o'er  the  green, 

Where  robins  are  heard,  and  bright  flowers  are  seen. 

Forsaken  and  lone  seems  that  little  room 

Where  the  nurse  has  watched  o'er  the  sick  one's  doom. 

From  his  staring  eye  beams  no  living  light ; 
His  hands  are  folded  stiff  and  tight. 

She  has  drawn  the  sheet ;  without  tear  or  word 
She  departs  ;   no  breathing,  no  whisper  are  heard. 


WINTER    WEATHER. 

The  quickening  flood-rays  of  sunlight  and  heat 
Stream  far  away  South  to  the  song-bird's  retreat. 

In  feathery  flocks  frail  creatures  of  air 
Alight  on  the  grainfields  stiff-frozen  and  bare. 

Like  a  freebooter  prisoned,  in  penance  and  woe, 
In  the  belfrey  sits  hungry  the  black-a-moor  crow. 

Bristled  pines  revel  in  snowy  delight, 

As  if  robed  and  begemmed  for  a  festival  night. 

O'er  the  diamond-decked  cot  of  the  emerald  vale 
The  moon  sheds  its  frost-beams  spectral  and  pale. 

The  blast  laps  the  hearth-fire,  and  pipes  by  the  door, 
Looks  in  at  the  window,  and  searches  the  floor. 


90  WINTER  WEATHEB. 

Withered  leaves  rustle  in  skeleton  groves  ; 

In  the  rattling  tree-boughs  the  North- Wind  roves. 

The  North- Wind — that  tracks  the  explorer's  lost  way, 
By  the  chrystalline  bridges  that  span  Baffin's  Bay : 

He  has  whirled  on  Earth's  axis,  and  swept  the  blear  pole ; 
At  his  coming  the  surf-bells  their  monody  toll. 


THE   EECKONER. 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  VOGL. 

A  PLODDING-  reckoner,  with  thought  intent, 
Mindful  of  gains,  o'er  his  cyphers  bent. 

Ever  his  hand  the  inkstand  sought; 

He  solved  in  figures  the  knottiest  thought. 

Thus  toiling  and  reckoning  day  by  day, 
Already  his  hair  was  changing  to  gray. 

And  silently  whispered  the  raau-of-bone : 
"  Thy  balance-sheet,  brother,  must  soon  be  shown." 

Then  went  the  reckoner  to  view  the  fields, 
And  feast  on  the  bounties  that  nature  yields. 


92  THE  RECKONER. 

Flowers  were  blooming,  fragrant  and  bright : 
But  tlie  cyphers,  confusing,  dimmed  Ms  sight. 

Birds  were  piping  their  careless  trill : 
But  loudly  echoed  the  scratching  quill. 

Clouds  were  decked  with  golden  rays: 
He  saw  only  visions  of  inky  ways. 

*    'Twas  then  he  cast  a  penitent  look 

At  desk,  and  counter,  and  manuscript  book. 

Oh  mournful  the  day  when  he  penned  each  page, 
-And  reckoned  glad  youth  into  desolate  age ! 


STARS    AND    STRIFES. 


WE'RE  a  people — we're  a  power — 
Nations,  heed  the  solemn  word  ! 
Taunt  not,  lest  this  revelation 
From  the  cannon's  mouth  be  heard ! 


Each  trained  man  swings  scythe  and  sabre, 
Each  boy  learns  to  fight  and  farm; 
Steel  and  powder  are  our  safeguards  — 
Keen  our  vision,  strong  our  arm. 


Many  empires  are  absorbed 
In  this  vast  and  fertile  land; 
Afric's  nor  Siberia's  deserts 
Mockingly  our  bounds  expand. 


STARS  AND  STRIPES. 

To  Weak  climes,  where,  plant  forsaken, 
Forge  and  shuttle  work  the  gains, 
Onward  sails  the  peace  armada, 
Bearing  harvests  from  our  plains. 


Nevermore  shall  labor  languish, 
Paralyzed  by  tyrant  might  j 
For  our  "Stars"  they  are  unfurled 
To  dispel  want's  cloudy  night. 


Fierce  barbarians  must  not  plunder, 
Nor  may  lorded  serfs  defy ; 
For  our  "  Stripes "  shall  flash  upon  them, 
Like  the  lightning  from  the  sky, 


And  when  traitor  foes  are  gathered 
Where  the  battle's  thunder  roars, 
Let  the  blue-gemmed  badge  mount  higher 
Than  the  bird  of  freedom  soars  : 


Spread  from  mastheads,  crowning  mountains, 
Streaming  o'er  the  tented  field, 
Victory  e'er  betides  our  heroes  — 
Right  and  might  will  never  yield ! 


WAYFARING. 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  RUCKERT. 

I  KNOCKED  in  vain  at  the  rich  man's  door  : 
A  farthing  is  all  he  gives  to  the  poor. 

Gently  I  tapped  at  affection's  gate  : 
Ten  others  were  wooing,  I  was  too  late. 

Fain  would  I  approach  honor's  castled  abode  : 
No  spurs  had  I  won,  no  palfrey  I  rode. 

Where  industry  toiled,  a  pittance  to  gain, 
I  met  only  rags,  starvation  and  pain. 

Through  life  have  I  sought  the  abode  of  content 
It  beckoned,  but  vanished  when  nearer  I  went. 


0 


96  WAYFARING. 

One  cottage  I  found — 'twas  grassy  and  low ; 
Thither  for  refuge  at  last  I  may  go. 

Its  portals  are  open,  to  welcome  each  guest; 
There  many  before  me  in  silence  sought  rest. 


PEDANTRY. 

FROM  rote  and  maxim  liberate  the  mind, 
That  every  problem  thought-solution  find  • 
For  living  action  best  can  illustrate 
The  lineaments  of  every  mind-portrait. 

Our  schoolboy  teachings,  meted  out  by  rule, 
Class  embryo  sage  too  oft  with  embryo  fool ; 
And  many  a  pampered  Solon  leaves  his  class 
Head  and  accomplished,  but  matured,  alas, 
On  musty  precept — learning's  hierophant — 
To  stifle  progress,  by  his  weighty  cant ; 
Whilst  fruitful  thinkers  delve  within  themselves  - 
And  shun  the  oracles  from  library  shelves. 
The  God-like  attribute,  inventive  power, 
Has  dawned  on  them,  in  an  inspired  hour ; 
They  scatter  the  dry  leaves  of  barren  lore, 
And  pierce  each  problem  to  its  very  core. 


PROCRASTINATION. 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  OLDEN  GERMAN. 

"  MOTHER,  dear  mother,  hungry  am  I ; 
Pray  give  me  food,  or  else  I  will  die." 

"  Patience,  my  child,  and  thou  shalt  eat : 
Early  to-morrow  we'll  sow  the  wheat." 

To-morrow  came,  and  the  wheat  was  sown ; 
But  the  child  still  moaned  with  piteous  tone : 

"  Mother,  dear  mother,  hungry  am  I  ; 
(Pray  give  me  food,  or  else  I  will  die.") 

"  Patience,  my  child,  thy  longing  restrain  : 
To-morrow  morning  we'll  gather  the  grain/' 


PROCRASTINATION.  99 

And  when  the  sheaves  all  gathered  lay, 
Faintly  the  child  was  heard  to  Bay : 

"  Mother,  dear  mother,  hungry  am  I ; 
(Pray  give  me  food,  or  else  I  will  die.") 

"  Patience,  my  child,  and  dry  thy  tears — 
To-morrow  we'll  thresh  the  wheaten  spears." 

And  when  the  threshing  had  all  been  done, 
The  mournful  infant  anew  begun  : 

"  Mother,  dear  mother,  hungry  am  I ; 
(Pray  give  me  food,  or  else  I  will  die.") 

"  Soon,  my  child,  approaches  the  hour : 
To-morrow  the  miller  will  grind  the  flour." 

And  after  the  grain  had  all  been  ground, 
The  child  continued  its  wailing  sound  : 

"  Mother,  dear  mother,  hungry  am  I  ; 
(Pray  give  me  food,  or  else  I  will  die.") 


100  PROCRASTINATION. 

"  The  bread  is  kneaded,  my  darling  one ; 
To-morrow  the  baking  will  be  begun." 

The  bread  was  baked,  at  dawn  of  day 
But  famished  and  dead  the  infant  lay. 


PHASES    OF    LIFE. 

MAN'S  life  lias  phases  three-fold,  and  they  blend 
To  vary  the  monotony  of  time. 
First  are  pursuits,  where  every  move  is  strife, 
That  creature  comforts  to  the  household  brings, 
From  trophies  conquered  in  material  things. 
As  wit  encounters  wit,  so  man  seeks  man, 
Outreckoning  his  fellow  where  he  can, 
And  gracefully,  by  action  most  unkind, 
O'ercomes  the  weak  and  too  confiding  mind. 
Thus  godly  men,  of  carnal  instinct,  play 
A  most  ignoble  part  from  day  to  day. 

At  night  we  homeward  rove,  to  seek  repose  j 
Our  advent  there  the  lonely  day's  event, 
Our  plodding  changed  to  greeting  and  embrace; 
We  mount  a  brother's,  son's  and  father's  place. 
Here  streamlet,  tree  and  flock  are  all  our  own; 
"We  rule  a  prince,  upon  a  household  throne ! 


102  PHASES  OF  LIFE.    • 

Stolen  from  sleep,  or  by  the  wayside  dreamt, 
Our  spirit  life  springs  to  vitality. 
In  lone  communion  self  responds  to  self; 
What  mean  our  thoughtless  aims,  we  often  ask- — 
Is  life  a  boon,  or  shall  it  be  a  task? 
But  holier  moments  come,  as  from  within : 
When  life's  gay  panorama  no  more  haunts 
With  vain  allurements  our  capricious  taste, 
We  find  no  harvest  gleaned  from  wilted  flowers, 
And  ask  "  whence  fled  life's  evanescent  hours  1 " 
When  strife  is  banished,  peace  awakes  a  chord 
Of  prayerful,  joyous  tribute  to  the  Lord, 
That  tells,  "  the  grave  is  but  a  shaded  way 
Leading  from  visions  of  an  unreal  world; 
Where  death,  by  silent  witchery,  transforms 
Life's  dismal  night  to  light-enchanted  day." 


L I  B  R  A  K  Y 

UNIVERSITY    OF 

CALIFORNIA. 


VENETIAN  GONDOLIERS. 


TRANSLATED    FROM    THE  GERMAN  OF  CHAMISSO. 

IN  purple  glows  the  evening, 
And  gently  rises  the  gale  ; 
Whilst  many  a  gay  gondola 
Has  trimmed  its  fluttering  sail. 

"  'Tis  joy,"  quoth  a  maid  to  her  lover, 

"  This  roving  o'er  the  brine ; 
Spread  out  our  sail  to  the  breezes, 
Let  the  helmsman's  place  be  mine." 


Thou  steerest  too  rashly,  beloved, 
Afar  in  the  open  sea  : 
Our  skiff  is  frail  and  helpless, 
And  the  waves  run  wild  and  free." 


104  VENETIAN  GONDOLIERS. 

"Must  I  distrust  our  vessel? 
Why  should  I  doubt  to-day  ? 
Who  ever  in  thee  confiding, 
In  evil  hour  gave  way  1 " 

"Art  frantic?     Turn  the  rudder — 
Thou  bringst  us  both  to  woe; 
Already  wind  and  billow 
Have  play  with  our  frail  canoe." 


"  Then  let  the  angry  waters 
Have  with  these  planks  their  play; 
The  rudder  is  unfastened — 
Despair  now  leads  the  way ! 

"  From  virtue  hast  thou  guided — 
To  ruin  have  I  led; 
Quick,  make  thy  peace  with  heaven, 
Thy  final  prayer  be  said! 


Why  tremble,  base  deceiver, 
Beneath  this  glittering  steel  ? 
My  agony  is  deeper 
Than  all  that  thou  canst  feel. 


VENETIAN  GONDOLIERS.  105 

"  Too  many  a  maiden,  betrayed, 

In  silence  pines  to  death; 

My  crowning  deed  be  'vengeance' — 
'  Love '  be  my  dying  breath." 


The  youth  his  hands  was  wringing, 
Of  his  own  guilt  beknown ; 
She  struck  the  steel  in  his  bosom, 
Then  sank  it  into  her  own. 


A  wreck  was  seen  at  morning, 
Borne  landward  by  the  flood : 
There  lay  the  lifeless  lovers, 
United  in  their  blood. 


THE   PLEIADES. 


'TWAS  leap-year  night ;  fleet  time  had  stayed  his  round  ; 

Mankind  were  housed,  and  fast  in  slumber  bound. 

As  wearily  I  on  my  couch  reclined, 

Strange  fancies  lit  my  lonely  wandering  mind; 

Each  nerve  seemed  quickened  by  mysterious  power, 

That  stole  o'er  me,  in  this  lone,  stilly  hour. 

Upon  the  wall,  within  reflected  light, 

Methought  I  viewed  the  antics  of  some  sprite  : 

Softly  I  rose,  half  conscious,  half  in  awe, 

To  near  the  shadowy  vision  that  I  saw. 

Then  as  I  gazed  from  window  overhead, 

From  each  star  hung  a  bright,  electric  thread, 

Gleaming  like  unto  meteoric  light, 

Suspending  winged,  seraphic,  floating  forms, 

That  shone  in  colors  more  than  rainbow-hued ; 

That  sang  in  concord  more  than  harmony; 

Graceful  as  flowers,  elfins  by  pedigree — 


THE   PLEIADES.  107 

Higher  in  form  than  woman's  loveliness  — 
Whose  beauty  language  falters  to  express. 

Spell-bound  and  way-led,  did  I  ask  myself 
What  charm  had  brought  adown  each  truant  elf; 
Or  if  my  mind,  waked  from  a  fever  trance, 
Had  run  astray,  to  some  weird  phantom-dance. 
Closely  I  listened,  and  soft  strains  I  heard, 
More  dulcet-toned  than  song  of  warbling  bird. 
But  soon  they  ceased,  and  then  the  weary  sound 
Of  low-born  men  and  earthly  things  resound  ; 
The  visions  floated  as  thin  vapors  rise — 
The  reddening  day-break  drew  them  t'ward  the  skies ; 
When  moonlight  paled  each  found  a  home  afar, 
And  vanished  distant  as  the  polar  star. 
Out  of  their  song  these  syren  strains  remain — 
I  may  not  sing,  but  word  them  o'er  again  : 


Seven  are  we, 
Of  stellar  degree, 
Eelics  from  olden 
Mythology. 
To  the  constellations 
On  high  we  fled, 
Ere  the  Son-of-Man 
Arose  from  the  dead. 
10 


108  THE  PLEIADES. 

"  In  childhood  we  roved 
In  this  valley  of  death, 
Where  our  spirits,  clay-prisoned, 
Drew  heavenly  breath ; 
Ere  time,  the  destroyer, 
Bid  Olymp  pass  away, 
And  gave  life  the  canker 
Of  early  decay. 

"  Slain  are  Dragon, 
Centaur  and  Faun; 
Wood-nymphs  have  perished, 
The  Titans  are  gone. 
Since  fact  and  reason 
Rule  temporal  things, 
Men  are  exalted 
To  beggarly  kings. 

"  Serpent  and  songster 
Rest  'neath  the  same  shade ; 
Felon  and  judge 
Out  of  brothers  are  made ; 
One  doomed  a  vagrant, 
One  born  princely  heir — 
Lifted  to  greatness, 
Or  hurled  to  despair. 


THE  PLEIADES. 

"  Seven  are  we, 
Of  stellar  degree, 
Belies  from  olden 
Mythology. 
To  the  constellations 
On  high  we  fled, 
Ere  the  Son-of-Man 
Arose  from  the  dead. 

4t  Since  the  gods,  star-banished 
"Were  lost  to  power, 
Spirits  of  heauty 
Lurk  in  the  flower, 
Or  nestle  beneath 
The  humming-bird's  wing, 
And  their  eyes  peer  out 
From  each  gem-decked  ring. 

"Belted  Orion 
Now  shimmers  above : 
Pursuing  the  sister 
That  fled  from  his  love ; 
With  the  speed  of  Atlanta, 
Equipped  for  the  chase 
He  has  sent  the  fleet  comet 
To  seek  her  in  space. 


109 


110  THE  PLEIADES. 

"  Safe  in  the  clouds 
The  rain-storm  is  pent; 
Boreal  winds 
To  their  caves  are  sent ; 
The  moon  have  we  burnished 
To  noon-da y  light  ; 
For  we  sister  Pleiades 
Have  revels  to-night. 

"  Children  of  dream-land, 
Guests  of  the  night, 
Sirius  beckons 
The  hour  *  *  * 
Gather  *  *  * 
Spirits  of  air, 
*  *  *   away 
From  this  planet  of  care.'* 


DEAD    AUTHORS. 

UNNUMBERED  volumes  look  from  yonder  shelves 
With  beggar's  mien,  and  crave  our  charity, 
Stale,  and  unpetted  by  the  scholar's  hand, 
Voiceless,  in  mock-solemnity  they  stand, 
Like  tombstone  records ;  and  each  title-page 
Tells  of  rash  men,  drowned  in  oblivion's  sea 
By  the  avenging  muse  of  Poetry. 


THE   WATER   SPRITES. 

TRANSLATED   FROM   THE   GERMAN   OF  HEINE. 
A    BUBLESQUE    ON     "DEB    WASSERMAN  "    AND     "  LOKELBT  "* 

'TIS  a  festive  night :   the  grove  is  illumed, 
And  the  guests  have  rallied  for  pleasure ; 
Soon  a  stranger  couple  join   in    the  dance 
That  moves  in  fantastical  measure. 


Graceful  they  swing,  lightly  they  trip, 

In  ways  that  some  mischief  betoken  : 

They  smile  at  each  other,  they  shake  their  heads— 

'Till  the  charm  by  a  whisper  is  broken. 


Quoth  the  maiden  :  "  Sir  Knight,  I  see  by  thy  crest, 
With  its  purple  and  low-bending  lily, 
That  was  plucked  from  the  ocean's  bed  below, 
Thou  art  not  of  Adam's  family. 


THE  WATER  SPRITES.  113 


"  Thou  art  the  Merman,  come  to  decoy 
Some  credulous  villager's  daughter ; 
I  knew  thee  at  once,  by  thy  fish-bony  teeth, 
And  thy  bitter  perfume  of  sea-water." 


Onward  they  whirl  through  the  maze  of  the  dance, 
In  antics  each  other  outvieirig; 
They  smile  at  each  other,  they  shake  their  heads — 
Quoth  the  swain,  in  soft  accents  replying : 


'  Fair  lady,  thy  hand  is  so  searchingly  cold — 
"Whence  came  the  green  gloss  of  thy  tresses  ] 
'Tis  marvellous  why,  'neath  this  summery  sky, 
So  mouldy  the  seam  of  thy  dress  is  ! 


"  Well  did  I  know,  as  we  joined  in  the  waltz, 
Thou  wert  none  of  earth's  lap-nursed  creatures 
I  knew  thee,  Loreley,  by  thy  motionless  eye, 
And  the  moon-bleached  hue  of  thy  features." 


The  music  grows  weary,  the  dance  is  done — 
They  part  with  formal  greeting  : 
They  know  each  other  by  far  too  well, 
And  shun  a  similar  meeting. 


MISERY  AND   KEMOESE. 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  OLDEN  GERMAN- 

"  JOSEPH,  dear  Joseph,  thou  hast  blighted  my  fame, 
And  doomed  thy  own  Annie  to  woe  and  to  shame. 


"  Joseph,  loved  Joseph,  wherever  I  go, 
Despair  comes  before  me— thy  sin  is  my  woe. 


"  And  the  finger  of  scorn  points  to  yonder  lone  field, 
Where  I,  among  wretches,  my  body  must  yield. 


"  Have  mercy,  ye  judges,  and  hasten  my  end ; 
My  words  of  forgiveness  to  Joseph  I  send." 


MISERY  AND  REMORSE.  H5 

Soon  an  ensign  came  riding,  his  colors  he  waved  : 
The  verdict  is  stayed,  from  disgrace  she  is  saved. 


Oh  ensign,  brave  ensign,  too  late  thy  relief: 
Death's  angel,  more  speedy,  has  solaced  her  grief. 


ON  WINGS   OF   SONG  AND  MUSIC 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  HEiNS. 

ON  wings  of  song  and  music, 
Beloved,  I'd  waft  thee  away, 

To  the  flowering  banks  of  Ganges, 
Forever  blooming  and  gay. 


Its  floral  realm  shall  receive  thee, 
Illumed  by  the  silent  moon  ; 

There  the  lotus  flowers  are  longing 
To  greet  their  companion  soon. 


There  violets  nod  and  flutter, 
Or  gaze  on  the  stars  above; 

And  roses,  with  eloquent  fragrance, 
Recount  their  legends  of  love. 


ON  WINOS  OF  SONO  AND  MUSIC.  117 

Within  the  spice-groves  are  lurking 

The  innocent,  cunning  gazelles ; 
And  distant  is  heard  the  rushing 

Of  the  holy  tide,  as  it  swells. 


Under  the  palm  will  we  linger, 
Housed  from  the  open  skies, 

In  raptures  of  love  and  contentment — 
Dreaming  with  open  eyes. 


TO    A    COQUETTE. 


Vo~WS  of  love — are  only  whispered, 
Holiest  words — are  from  us  wrung; 
And  the  heart's  most  deep  affection 
Seldom  yet  has  poet  sung. 


Maid,  'twere  well  that  others  knew  thee, 
And  the  danger  in  thine  eyes — 
That,  like  the  taper's  flame  alluring, 
Burn  the  dazzled  evening-flies. 


Thou  hast  humbled  the  confiding, 
Mocked  at  many  a  lover's  vows  — 
'Till  thy  bosom's  "  milk  of  kindness  ' 
Curdled  with  corruption  flows. 


TO   A   COQUETTE.  H9 

And  the  venom  of  thy  nature, 
Jaundice-like,  will  spread  within, 
Until,  desperate,  thy  ambition 
Leads  thee  on  to  greater  sin. 


Widowed  hearts  still  linger  round  thee, 
Made  more  solemn  than  by  death  ; 
Soon  thou'lt  shudder  at  thy  loneness  — 
Curse  thy  fate,  with  dying  breath. 

Beauteous  image — of  destruction, 
Blossom  of — the  Upas  tree, 
Silken  serpent,  I've  uncoiled  thee : 
Never  strike  thy  fangs  at  me. 


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